Injury Meltdown

The original Newark Half Marathon ran for many years until 2011 when it ceased to exist. It seemed the organisers had had enough of the endless hassle of organising it. Then in 2016 it returned, albeit without much Newark in it and certainly not the town centre start and finish.

The new race starts in the Sconce Park, on the outskirts of Newark, and the site of many civil war battles which are now being exchanged for battles of another variety. From there the race heads further outwards and despite it being advertised as the dreaded flat and fast, meaning its probably going to be dull, I decide to give it a go this year as part of my Marathon Project.

There is no car parking, so we park in the street and then walk to the start which is buried deep in the park.

The course is almost totally on closed county lanes, if you don’t count farm vehicles. One of which tries a massive reversing manoeuvre mid-race at about the ten mile point. It was sort of all on road as well, if you discount a few minor thoroughfares that hadn’t see a layer of tarmac in twenty plus years and had grass growing through them. Oh, and the entire last mile was a lap of Sconce Park itself, on the grass. Other than that... no complaints about the course.

I set out determined to take this (relatively) easily and quickly put aside the fact that one of my former Thunder Run team mates is currently ahead of me. I know he can’t maintain that pace and true enough I soon ease past him without doing anything.

What is more worrying is that another (occasional) rival of mine, shoots past me about six miles in as if his shoes are on fire. That has NEVER happened before. I hope he can’t maintain that pace but just in case he can, I up mine a little. This is probably my undoing.

I am correct in that he can’t maintain that pace and soon I get back in front of him, leaving him far behind until... disaster strikes. At ten miles my calf locks up and I start to walk, race over. Both of my ‘rivals’ come past me. Oh, the shame but I suppose I was in good company today.

Later, Usain Bolt pulled up injured in his last ever race while Mo Farah also messed up his finale. Mo is now apparently giving up the track to focus on racing against me full time on the road. Not sure I’ll give him much trouble.

I have my phone with me, specifically for an injury meltdown just like this, so I text L that I’ll be a while and to put her feet up/have a beer/get her knitting out etc etc.

She is somewhat appalled that I’m not. I sort of run/walk/jog/shuffle the last three miles and finish in 1:58. Not bad I suppose and at least I finished unlike Usain but it’s not a good omen for my future plans.

The goodie bag proved to be interesting, red t-shirt aside, with a few decent snacks, a medal and some weird plastic thing that I mistook for a dog toy but someone else said was perhaps a massage tool but could just as well have been a sex aid. There were no takers in our household to research this further, even the dogs weren’t interested.

We spend the evening in the Crafty Crow.

(Sunday 13^th August)

Dirty Weekend In Whitechapel

I’m in London, again, by train, again, in First Class, again, only this time it’s not business but pleasure and a dirty weekend in Whitechapel with L and Mo Farah.

It has to be said that First Class just isn’t the same when you’re too late for breakfast and as we find out on the way home the perks are practically non existent on Sundays. If you want a drink, fetch it yourself from the buffet card, four coaches away. Thanks for that.

We do live it up a little on the way there, before we even get on the train, with wine and Prosecco at Nottingham Station which costs almost as such as the train tickets.

The Holiday Inn at Whitechapel turns out to be very swish and not at all seedy, shame. Then we head to the Olympic Stadium on the DLR where we join the huge security queues to get in. While we queue it gets me thinking that if someone wanted to detonate something for maximum effect then in the queue would be quite an effective option. Scary!

Of course these checks would be a hell of a lot quicker if practically everyone didn’t need to bring a huge rucksack with them. It’s a three hour athletics session folks, what can you possibly need to get through that?

I suppose the food options aren’t great and nor are the beer choices. The velodrome, just across the way, is much better so there’s no excuse really. We have a massive pasty thing and then pork roll afterwards. 

We arrive in time for the Opening Ceremony, which doesn’t really exist, then we see Mo win the 10k and everyone go ape for Bolt in the 100m heats. I’ve never quite understood this Bolt thing myself but then I’ve never really understood the attraction of the 100m either. 

We also see Laura Muir looking impressive in 1500m heats and get totally confused by the Pole Vault qualifying. It is one of my favourite events but they don’t make it easy to follow and, just to add to the confusion, there are three field events going on at once.

However it’s an excellent evening and it’s good to finally get inside the stadium. It's only took me five years. Then afterwards we are herded back towards the station down closed off streets whether we wanted to go there or not. We couldn’t get to a bar, which was all we wanted to do, and eventually ended up back in the hotel bar instead.

(Friday 4th August)

Controversial Selection

It’s the 10k Swim in Rio today and it’s all in the sea, which looks really impressive but must be really really tough. Bet Mo is glad his 10k is on dry land, I would be. As for that Mr Bolt, he gets all the credit for running for a mere ten seconds but what’s that compared to a two hour swim. The words ‘two hour swim’ alone bring me out in a cold sweat.

Our girl is of course Keri-Anne Payne who L is always going on about because L beat her in the Great North Swim one year. So it’s a bit of a mystery how she made the Olympic team ahead of L. There were mitigating circumstances at the Great North that might explain Keri-Anne's controversial selection but we won’t let those get in the way of a good story.

We have rounded up enough people this week and dogging in on.

(Monday 15^th August)

Still Going Strong

It started raining yesterday lunchtime and it’s still going strong. Which means my newly arranged dog training night is rained off and will now, hopefully, commence next week.

L has to defer her daily 5k run as well, probably until tomorrow and is apocalyptic about her failure to go out in the deluge. She suggests that Mo and Usain wouldn’t skipped their 5k because of the rain. Actually, I bet they would. They’ve had gone and done it at some indoor facility with a 400m track. The council haven’t built ours yet.

Meet Clyde, a ‘sport-loving thistle full of cheeky Glaswegian charm’, apparently. The official mascot of Glasgow 2014.

The rain actually stops around 4pm. So when I get home, the ‘boys’ get to go on the park instead. Although it has to be quick one, as the council are locking the gate earlier and earlier due to the darker evenings. Doggo overdoes it and returns with a limp again.

Then we collect L from Derby, where’s she’s been to see some strip show, ‘Calendar Girls’ stage version.

(Monday 24th September)

Not Even Usain Bolt

Today is actually a glorious day, nothing like a Bank Holiday weekend and it’s a good day for a run as we head up to the YMCA Leisure Centre in Fleetwood. L grabs our numbers, whilst I find somewhere shady to park the boys.

The race route starts off very dull and boring, as we meander through a housing estate or two, heading roughly in the direction of Blackpool. Which is good, because with nothing to look at, I can concentrate on the run.

The course consists of two differing loops and as we complete the housing estate tour we turn and head back to Fleetwood, along the sea front road. We pass the 11 and 12 mile markers but we’re only approaching the half way point. Then they turn us left before we reach the Leisure Centre and onto the Esplanade pointing us again towards Blackpool.

Now it’s more scenic and dare I say it enjoyable. There is a slight headwind along the Esplanade but nothing to be too concerned about and, sadly, not enough to noticeably propel us home again after we turn for home. This turn comes after a short out and back, that enabled you to size up those just ahead and pick a few targets. An old man with a limp, a guy who looks about twelve, a banana and a girl in an impossibly brief pair of shorts were my disparate selection.

Then it’s the repeat of those last two miles, which I like, as it gives me a nice cosy feeling to be on familiar territory. I reel in 50% of my targets, although sadly not the lightweight racing banana nor, even more sadly, the girl in the impossibly brief pair of shorts, who both prove elusive. e.g. too fast. Aided no doubt by a course that has been mega-flat throughout, so despite aiming for 1:45, I do 1:42. Which is very satisfying, as is whipping past the man with the limp and the twelve year old.

It could have been better... as someone shouts to me to sprint to break 1:42 as the clock clicks over 1:41:55... 56... 57... with thirty metres to go. Hmmm. Who do they think I am? Usain Bolt? Even Usain Bolt couldn’t run thirty metres in three seconds, especially not after running a half marathon. 1:42:08 is fine with me.

Then I am handed a medal (ugh), a banana (ugh) and a Wagon Wheel (ugh ugh). Shouldn’t complain really. I simply cannot face food at a time like this anyway but to be fair to Wagon Wheels, I’ve never been able to face them full stop. They tell us to only take one each, this isn’t a problem. There’s also a guy handing out promotional sachets of recovery drink, which I do make use of.

I’m sort of surprised not to see L waiting for me. She’s injured but not injured enough to admit the full details to me. She had threatened to jog round to the 10K mark and then stop at the ice cream van. Can’t see her in the queue though.

Overall it was a good event. Lots of water out on the course, in bottles as well and nice small bottles at that. Which I powered myself round with, along with three energy gels. Excellent weather and a good all round vibe to the event.

A vibe that is aided by a very pleasant sea front cafe selling tea and bacon cobs. Which is a good way to start a refuelling operation, which is continued with a beer on the way back to Caton and then a meal outside the Ship in the village later that evening.

(Sunday 26th August)

Another Year Closer To The Bus Pass

It’s my birthday today. So another year older and another year closer to the bus pass. As Daughter points on her birthday card, which is addressed to the ‘old git (and not the furry one)’. She also emails me birthday greetings but attaches a picture of a bottle of raspberry vodka which is a unsubtle reminder of what I forgot to get her yesterday. A reward (of sorts) for finally getting her university choice decided.

I cycle in to work today. It’s a pleasant morning, if a little chilly and there's not much traffic trying to kill me or perhaps they were just being kind on my birthday.

Applications for Olympic Tickets have closed. The organisers reckon they’ve received requests for more than 20 million tickets from 1.8 million people. That’s three times as many tickets as they have but was pretty much expected. Despite organisers ‘quietly’ urging people to only bid for what they could afford, they must be ‘quietly’ thrilled. The whole system had been developed to encourage people to opt for as many tickets as possible. Although it’s not the first time tickets have been sold for an Olympics via a lottery system, this is the first time buyers haven’t been told which events they've been allocated before having to pay for the tickets. This means people can’t back out and will therefore have to either attend or sell the tickets on. So no empty seats, in theory.

So everybody, me included, has gone for multiple events to avoid getting nothing. Although with my luck in lotteries and raffles, I’ll probably win nothing.

L takes the afternoon off and takes Son and all his stuff back to university. She not only survives the drive to Warwick but when I get home and she offers me a drink, it’s of coffee rather than wine. So it must have gone well.

I guess I really should have gone to the pool after work, I had the time but it is my birthday so I didn’t want to spoil it by swimming. You don’t want to drown on your birthday do you?

It's off to the park instead then, where two cats strolled nonchalantly across our path arm in arm or whatever the feline equivalent is. Bold as brass they were. Well until MD saw them that is, at which point they turned into Usain Bolt and Tyson Gay respectively. One flew over a garden fence but the other bizarrely decided against that escape route. Instead it doubled back, which when he saw the cat heading back towards him totally freaked MD out. Then before he could recover from the shock, it sold him a dummy and then with a quick shimmy disappeared through a gap in the hedge.

Inexplicably for a birthday, not a single drop of alcohol passes my lips. I’m saving myself for the weekend, which starts on a Thursday for the second week running.

(Wednesday 27th April)